


Grip

by Passerby



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Inspired by Art, M/M, Short One Shot, Wolf Derek, but with all the sterek intentions ;), just hinting on sterek honestly, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14440005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Passerby/pseuds/Passerby
Summary: Aka the one where Derek’s gone, but somehow Stiles keeps seeing him in his wolf form.





	Grip

**Author's Note:**

> This one originates from a [post](https://chibithepasserby.tumblr.com/post/143326945363/batwynn-part-1-please-dont-mind-me-im) I've written on tumblr in reaction to one hell of [an awesome art](http://batwynn.tumblr.com/post/142275932827/p1-p2). It was written as a spur of the moment thing, in the very next few moments after seeing the art, so don't go looking for anything artsy from me. I still hold it close to my heart, though.

„What in the name of God were you doing outside, Stiles?“ The worry in his dad's voice was so obvious… And when he looked up at him, Stiles’d swear he managed to add a few more lines to his father's face as well. It hurt him to see it. Even more so to be the cause of it. Again.  
  
When he woke up snuggled in his bed, he thought it was just a dream at first. Then his bleary eyes noticed a figure-like shape standing right there and it was just by a pure luck that he did not call out Derek's name before his vision managed to clear enough and his dad spoke up as well. Now, he was left looking at a dissapointed, yet worried father, with shivers running through his body every now and again, feeling way too hot for a second before freezing over the very next moment.  
  
It also meant that it was real then, though… He did see him. He could swear on it! If it was not for the fact that he escaped him, for the fact that Stiles was too slow… too clumsy, hence, stumbling over a treeroot hidden underneath all the snow… If it wasn’t for him letting his eyes leave the lean frame of the black wolf for one short second that it took Stiles to get his feet back underneath him properly…  
  
„No-nothing, dad.“ There was pure pain in his father's eyes then – like so many times before already. For Stiles was not telling him the truth and they both knew it. All Stilles could do though, was rasping the lie and then to cowardly close his eyes, pretending to be too tired for any conversation (which was not as far from truth as one would think to be honest), because he could not tell him.  
He was the worst son ever.

 

* * *

  
  
„What happened, Stiles? Your dad is worried sick! And no wonder - why the heck would you go outside into the woods with a snowstorm raging on and wearing just a hoodie, man?“ As if having his dad worried was not enough, Scott wore the exact same expresion as his dad several hours ago. The difference was, he could tell Scott. He would understand him.  
  
„I saw him, Scott. Derek was out there,“ Stiles forced the words out, then proceeded to tell him as much as he could before sneezing several times in a row which subsequentially forced him to blew his nose, almost as if for dramatic effect if not for its awful and definitely not flattering loud noise.  
  
„Dude… Are you sure?“ not even Scott's puppy eyes and imaginary floppy ears could temper down Stiles' reaction to his best friend's doubtful tone.  
  
„He was freakin' out there, Scott!“ And maybe he should've really tone it down, because the next second saw him dealing with a nasty bout of coughing. Scott's phone vibrated in his pocket then. Fishing it out of his jean's pocket, Scott looked down at the display to find out its cause was a message from Allison asking him to meet her.  
  
„Okay, okay. Alright! How about you get some rest, buddy, and then we talk again?“  
  
Stiles barely managed to nod in agreement before gulping down the rest of his tea, to soothe the scratchy feeling at the back of his throat.  
  
„I have to go now. Get better, alright? I'll see you soon, Stiles.“

 

* * *

  
  
Stiles laid at home in his bed for a week already with fever as his almost constant companion. It took turns with nasty chills and somewhere inbetween his dad checked in on him before going to work (or after coming back from his shift, it was hard to keep track of time and of which was which). However, Stiles was starting to feel better. Not alright per se, but whenever his dad was not at home, Stiles got out of his bed to walk around the room a bit and the feeling of vertigo from such movement lessened with each such try. He was getting better. He had to get better. If not for the reason that lying in his bed was an awful and boring waste of time then for that something calling to him. He did not know what exactly it was or even why, but the 'voice' definitely did not want Stiles to twiddle thumbs in his bed either. Then one day… One day it urged him to look out from his window with the same force like when you're underwater way too long. The need to get air into your lungs – to breathe.  
  
And when Stiles looked out of his window, he was there. Looking up at his window. Right at him. Blue beta eyes meeting with ordinary brown human ones through the raging snowstorm.  
  
His half functioning brain protested against the idea blooming in his head. It kept on telling him it was a bad one even when Stiles got down the stairs on his wobbly legs, grabbing his jacket. It did not stop even when the front door closed behind him. It did not matter, though. None of it did.

 

* * *

  
  
„Man, I don't know where you are or even if you get this message, okay? But I think you should come back.“ There was a slight pause in the voicemail recorded.  
  
„Please.“ It was kind of forced out and quiet, but still there to be heard. „Stiles' in the hospital. He kept on claiming he saw you. In your wolf form. In the woods. In a snowstorm.“ There was a heavy pause this time, full of unsaid words. As if just waiting to be spilled over, but being swallowed instead.  
  
„Wherever you are I hope you get this message. This is not normal, Derek. Why would he be the only one seeing you? I just…“ Scott cleared his throat awkwardly before continuing with a lame but honest sounding: „Maybe we could work something out. Together, somehow… an… an agreement – or arrangement. Because I might need your help on this one. Because I cannot ask Stiles this time, can I?“ There was an unhappy awkward laugh to it.  
„Just… yeah… it was me, Scott McCall.  
  
_Beep. End of the message._


End file.
